These Times, They Are A-Changing
by alcmenne
Summary: The Marauders are clever but clueless, James and Lily fall in love, a war-struck world keeps on spinning. A seventh-year story, Pottermore canon included.
1. Chapter 1

"James!"

Dam _nation_. Why does his dad have to rise with the bloody _sun_? Can't the bloody potions keep till _noon_?

"James Potter! Get your sorry arse downstairs!"

 _It's the lacewings. He wants me to get the bloody lacewings before the bloody potion turns orange or green or some other colour of the sodding rainbow. I'm going to off myself, I swear it…_

He rolls blearily out of bed and staggers to the kitchen without bothering to wear his spectacles. The world looks better blurry when your cranium is on the verge of splitting apart.

"Oh, were you sleeping?" his father asks in tones of innocent surprise.

"I hate you." James slumps down into an empty chair at the breakfast table. He can't see a potion simmering anywhere, which means his father called him down just for sport.

"What? You're usually such an early riser! How was I supposed to know you were in bed?"

His mother's laughter sounds like trumpets blaring in his ear. Although… it's a bit odd that she's up. She's not the sort of person who needs an excuse to sleep in.

But James' alcohol-infused brain is soon presented with another problem to struggle with when his father presses a familiar metal flask into his hands.

The Potters are not particularly strict about underage drinking, but anyone choosing to imbibe before they're of age has to sober up the old-fashioned way. The vials of hangover potion that Fleamont Potter has locked up in his cupboard are for _adults_.

"What?" the sinner slurs, befuddled, but then decides to gulp it down before someone snatches the blessing from him.

The effect is instantaneous. James leans back in his chair, feeling his headache drain away, leaving him as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as someone with eight hours of sleep under their belt.

His parents have arranged themselves in chairs opposite him. His father has an arm slung around his mother and they're both beaming.

"You two are very cheery!" James says, flashing an incorrigible grin. "Considering you found your only son dead drunk on the living room floor. Shouldn't you be busily reading books on decent parenting?"

"We seem to be doing all right. How come Sirius didn't stay the night? He shouldn't Apparate when he's drunk," his mum says.

"He probably shouldn't, but Lord knows he's got enough practice. I suppose he doesn't like leaving his place empty all night. Like anyone would want to break into that pigsty."

"When are Peter and Remus com – ?"

"Next week. Are you trying to build the suspense or something? Just tell me."

"Albus sent a message," Fleamont says, his eyes twinkling. "The letters aren't going to come for some time yet, but he's chosen you for Head Boy."

James lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "And my arse is going to be Minister of Magic."

"It's a huge honour," his mum says reprovingly. There's no hint of levity in her voice.

Their unprecedented generosity with the hangover cure, the suffocating pride in their eyes…James' skin prickles with alarm. "You're not – you're not serious, are you? Dumbledore's not really going to make me Head Boy?"

"Yeah. Look, son, you know I don't usually care about things like this, but the Head Boy badge is something to be proud of." Fleamont leans across the table to grip James' shoulder.

"Why? Remus got Prefect two years ago and we all had a big laugh! You had a big laugh with us, Dad." James tries not to whine, but the plaintiveness keeps creeping into his voice.

"Head Boy is a little different." His mum's tone is gentle but firm. "It means Albus is – is testifying to your skill as a wizard, to your strength as a leader."

"It's a bore. I don't want to have to hand out detentions because Dumbledore chose to testify to my skill as a wizard and my strength as a sodding leader!"

His father straightens in his chair. "All right," he says almost sharply. "Now pay attention, son, this is important. Are you listening carefully? This is serious."

The atmosphere in the room has become business-like so quickly that James feels winded. He sits up and pays attention.

Fleamont clears his throat.

"You-Know-Who's getting more and more powerful every day. You know that your mother and I oppose everything he stands for –"

"So do I!"

"Yes, of course. And you know, also, that we can't rely on our Ministry to be much help. They've got their hearts in the right place, I suppose, but they're too _official_. You need freedom and spirit to defeat Voldemort, the kind that a government body doesn't have. Moreover, you need freedom and spirit under the wisest and cleverest leader possible."

"Which is Dumbledore. Obviously."

"Yes, exactly. So Dumbledore is organizing a body of – freedom fighters – called the Order of the Phoenix."

"A bit melodramatic, but there's Albus for you," his mum says.

"And you're part of the Order?" James demands eagerly.

"Not really. Too old. We're involved in the war effort, of course, as much as we can be. Anything we can do. But Dumbledore needs young people. We're too bloody old to be of any real use. Dumbledore could advertise for young fighters, but that's not how the Order works. It's very secretive, only his handpicked people. Being Head Boy means Dumbledore has his eye on you. So you can see why it's an honour, can't you?"

"But Dad," James says, "of course I'm going to fight. All of us are. We've already decided. Sirius and I talked about this yesterday –"

"Before or after you got pissed?" his dad interjects.

"There's nothing we want to do more than fight," James says loudly, ignoring the comment, "but I don't see how being Head Boy makes any difference. You _know_ it doesn't. I can be a freedom fighter even if I don't have the stupid badge. I like raising hell with the boys. That doesn't mean I'm not serious about the – the cause, but do I really have to spend our last year at Hogwarts sitting around organizing stupid meetings about patrol duty?"

"It's just that this is Albus' personal vote of confidence. I wish you'd appreciate it more," his mum says desperately.

"We're not saying not to have _fun_. You're the one who said Dumbledore's got a sense of humour, but –" Fleamont begins.

"We want to fight, and we're all pretty good wizards. We're trustworthy and we wouldn't sell out to Voldemort even if he – he tortured us! I think Dumbledore will pick people on the basis of that for his Order." James rises to his feet. "Tell him to give the badge to somebody who wants it – oh, dam _nation_ , Moony probably wanted it!"

His parents sigh. "James, at least think about this for a moment."

"Tell him I vote for Moony."

James turns to go, but then hesitates.

"I don't want you to think…I'm glad Dumbledore thinks I could be Head Boy. You're right, it is an honour, but I'm happy with him just considering me for the job. Don't actually want it. Alright?"

* * *

The boys lie sprawled on the floor of James' bedroom. Their letters are open in their lap, and a bright badge gleams on his chest.

"I look like a git," he says sullenly.

"Just a little bit," Remus says.

The laughter is more uproarious than the joke merits. James catches Sirius' eye and the latter nods. He had seen, also, the hurt that had flashed across Remus' face when the badge had tumbled into James' lap.

"Didn't your parents write Dumbledore saying you would be a shit Head Boy?" Peter asks.

"I told them to. They said they did. I thought Dumbledore would see reason!"

"He's a bit contradictory like that. Probably found it funny." Remus keeps his eyes fixed on the chocolate frog he's unwrapping.

"Mad as a hatter," Sirius says languidly. "But this could be a good thing…or an interesting thing, at least."

"Yeah. It'll probably save us all some detentions." Remus' chocolate frog seems to have fortified him. He's not the jealous type anyway, James muses. It's just that, of all them, Moony's the one who longs for Dumbledore's _personal vote of confidence_.

He gets absorbed in the hell-raising as much as any of them, though, and James always feels a quiet satisfaction when Remus forgets to worry about seeking validation from the rest of the world because he's too involved in worrying about the intricacies of their next plan. But will Remus be able to forget again, with the stupid badge perpetually glaring from James' chest?

"That's not what I meant. Ask me what I meant, Moony." Sirius demands their attention, stealing it from the badge.

"No."

"Wormtail, _you_ ask me, because Moony's a spoilsport and a little bitch."

"Wormtail, don't ask him! I'll give you my five best cards."

"He'll just keep _talking_ if I don't," Peter says despairingly.

"Ask him," counsels James. "We can get it over with."

"I meant," Sirius announces, "that I did some asking 'round, and Lily Evans is Head Girl."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: "Why did Lily marry James? She hated him!" JKR: "Did she really? You're a woman, you know what I mean!"

I personally believe that there is canon evidence that Lily did have a semi-crush on James. I think that's why Snape is so concerned that "He fancies you! James Potter fancies you!" and I think, also, that while they were not friends, they had probably had some sort of interaction during which James developed his gigantic crush. I feel like they must have had some sort of repartee because of which is James really did hope that she might say yes. I feel like they had some sort of semi-friendship and that's what James is counting on when he asks Lily out WHILE DANGLING HER BEST FRIEND IN THE AIR. Like, yes, he's a giant dork and an utter idiot but surely he could've picked a better time? I think 80% of the reason he chose that time is because he is an idiotic fifteen-year-old DORK, but 20% of the reason is because they do have some sort of friendship, they have interacted before, there was some sort of chemistry there and he was addressing his question to THAT PART of her. I also don't subscribe to the fanon notion that James harassed Lily and asked her out a hundred times a day, because there is NO canon evidence for that and it doesn't even make sense in terms of character.

* * *

Lily hates watching her mother struggling to acclimatize to the wizarding world. It irritates her, and she feels guilty for being irritated. It embarrasses her, and she feels guilty for being embarrassed. And it feels like she's betrayed her family, somehow, and she feels guiltiest of all for that.

If Mary were not here, Lily's embarrassment and irritation and guilt would be less acute. If Mary were not here, Lily's pride and her excitement and eagerness to show her mum how _magical_ her life is would have overthrown the less savoury emotions. But Mary is here, lounging in the kitchen chair and answering Mrs. Potter's questions.

'Yeah, it's Dumbledore who chooses the Heads, which is a huge honour, obviously…and Lily wasn't even Prefect, so this is kind of shocking, but really _fantastic_ …' Mary gives Lily a warm smile. ' _Dumbledore_ chose her _personally_.'

Lily smiles back. This is the good part of having Mary around. Apart from the fact that they fell abruptly into best friendship during their sixth year, it's nice to have someone around who speaks _magic_. She has told her mum about Dumbledore a hundred times, but he's impossible to explain.

The white-bearded wizard sprung straight from Muggle fairytales. The right mix of sage and whimsy, set off with twinkling blue eyes. Dumbledore, whose name they say like a spell to cure all evil.

'Of course,' Mary continues, 'Dumbledore may actually be mental, so…'

'Because he chose this Potter boy too?'

'Yeah,' Lily jumps in. 'Potter wasn't Prefect either, and he was more trouble than I ever was. This friend of his, Lupin, was Prefect, and even that was a surprise to everybody – '

'Not really, teachers have such a soft spot for him, he gets away with murder – '

'Potter…' interrupts her mother reminiscently. 'That sounds familiar. Have you mentioned him?'

The mugs of tea sit cooling on the table in front of them. _We should have coasters_ , Lily thinks. She will think only of the non-existent coasters.

Not of her fifteen-year-old self, who didn't _like_ James Potter very much but found herself laughing at his jokes. Who had been paired up with him a few times during Potions and had caught herself blushing ( _once_ ) when their hands met. Who had listened to his stupid stories about his absurdly privileged life and had pretended not to pay attention. He was strangely charming and so very male – she was fifteen and conscious of his maleness, but she had not liked him – he was not likable – so easily _cruel_ , so cavalier, so devil-may-care, so unable to pay attention to anybody but himself and his own little gang.

And when he did pay attention to somebody else, they tended to regret it. He'd suspended her best friend up in the air by his ankle and had behaved exactly like the jerk he was. And then, to cap it all off, he'd asked her _out_ like he hadn't – he hadn't done anything, like it was all a joke.

And he had been the one to reveal Snape's true colours. Lily should have seen them all along, but she had stuck to her guns. She had defied the entire Gryffindor house because the abused boy from Spinner's End couldn't be that horrible. Then he had called her Mudblood, had degraded her in front of the people she had protected him from, had shattered her every illusion. Turns out the abused boy from Spinner's End, the victim of cruel neglect by his self-obsessed, bitter parents, had some pretty unsavory beliefs. Turns out the little boy who'd introduced her to the wizarding world could be a little spitfire of racism.

It had been such a calamitous event with such a tame aftermath. How easily she had cut Snape from her life. Potter was harder. He was always there in the common room, in the corridors, in classrooms. And she'd felt – he deserved the way she'd turned him down, but –

She was formally polite to him. He was formally polite to her. They didn't get paired up again in Potions.

'I don't think I ever did mention him,' she says coolly. She's being quite honest, actually. Had she ever hinted at – anything in her letters to her parents? It wasn't possible. It had all been very quick.

'Maybe I did,' Mary offers.

'He's a troublemaker then?' Mrs. Potter persists. Keen to get a precise picture of the world her daughter inhabits. 'Not one of those racists, is he?'

'No!' Lily laughs in spite of herself because the idea is so outrageous. Potter is loudly pro-Muggle. 'He'd sue you if he heard you say something like that, Mum. The entire Potter family is so Muggle-loving, they didn't make the Sacred Twenty-Eight.'

'The Sacred Twenty-Eight?'

'It's just a list of pureblood families, Mrs. Potter,' Mary explains. 'He's pureblood, but his whole family has always been very friendly to you lot, so they didn't make the list. So he's not a racist or anything – Dumbledore wouldn't pick a racist as Head Boy – but he's just very, you know, he doesn't take anything seriously and drives the teachers mad. Pulls a lot of stunts. He's a top student though and he's Quidditch Captain – I guess that was enough to make him Head Boy, though I still would put my money on the teachers staging a protest soon.'

She turns her clear brown eyes on Lily. 'Going to be a bit awkward for you two, won't it?'

Lily wonders if she's imagining the slight trace of vindictiveness in Mary's tone. In that moment she remembers that Mary _had_ made Prefect and never talked back to teachers.

'I suppose,' she admits. 'We barely talk and now I have to schedule meetings with him for a year.'

Mary giggles. When she speaks, there is nothing but sincerity in her tone. 'He's a nice bloke, though I suppose you never liked him much. But who cares about anything as long as you've got the badge.'

'It could've been you, Mary,' Lily says penitently. 'You deserved it.' But already she is thinking traitorously in her heart how glad she is it isn't. Dumbledore has validated her – Dumbledore has chosen her. Is this how Arthur felt when he pulled the sword out of the stone? Lily has never cared overmuch for the applause of officials, but the Head Girl badge lying on the table in front of them will be a slap in the face of everyone who has ever thought the word Mudblood, who has ever thought her lesser. She still can't quite believe she has it, but she's very happy she does.

But she's relieved to hear Mary's next reassuring words. She doesn't want to spend her seventh year with her best friend upset with her.

'Nah. A Head Girl's supposed to be a leader, right? And I was never much of that.'

'Don't know how much of one I'll be,' Lily grins.

'Lil, I don't know if you're getting what a huge deal this is. Dumbledore chooses the Heads, and what with the – economy – getting so out of control, Dumbledore's going to be a very important bloke. We should all stick to him like glue, and him picking you as Head is practically a personal invitation to be his, you know, right-hand man or something,' Mary says earnestly.

The _economy_ means the war. Although – what war? War would imply two opposing, powerful forces. There is only one powerful force, and that is You-Know-Who, and he is annihilating the world Lily holds so dear.

Her mother must never know. Her parents would worry; they might try to get involved. So Lily tells them the bare minimum and protects them as much as she can with code words and loving lies.

'I know,' she says, but she's half-distracted. Her mum has gotten up to pour away their cold tea. She's humming at the sink.

'Yeah. Look, I don't know anything, but Dumbledore's going to do something about this, isn't he? He's the one who got rid of Grindewald – stands to reason he'd do something about You-Know-Who. You'll get close to him, the Heads are directly linked to him, and you can ask him things.'

Lily's mother returns, beaming, to the table. 'Want some biscuits, girls?'

'Ask him things about the economy,' Lily says slowly. 'So we can get involved?'

'In – accounting?' Mary half-smiles. 'Well. I want to. Somebody's got to protect my parents, eh, and it should be their own daughter.'

'Of course I want to,' Lily says, without hesitation. 'Accounting's my dream. I've always wanted to, uh, account. I thought the Ministry was the way to go, but if Dumbledore is going to start something, I want to get involved in that.'

Her mother looks vaguely bewildered. 'You girls have decided on your after-school plan? Excellent. Accounting, is it?'

'Well, we're decent at maths,' Lily says, casting a helpless, half-laughing glance at Mary.

'Dear, you're terrible at maths! Although maybe, er, wizarding maths is different? I don't know, but you two should carefully consider – '

Lily tunes out the lecture. Instead she focuses on her mother's animated face, her shining green eyes. Of course she'll fight, she thinks savagely. She'll make use of her new connection with Dumbledore to force him to make her his confidante. Of course she'll fight! She'll fight so that one day her mum can ask her about her plans and get a truthful answer. And in the brand new world they'll create, people will be proud to be Muggle-born.

* * *

'You should probably answer all these letters,' Mary says.

Owls have been swooping in all day, delivering letters of congratulations from all their friends.

'I'm too depressed after reading the paper.' Lily flings herself on her bed, opening another box of Every Flavoured Beans. She doesn't even like them.

'Here's some more bad news. The papers are downplaying everything.'

'Says who?'

'My relatives. You know they're all involved in the Ministry. They won't tell me anything, though.'

Lily does know, because Mary talks about them all the time. Her illustrious aunts and uncles, who serve in the Wizengamot. Her grandfather, who had headed the Aurors in his time. Of her parents she speaks only to Lily, although everyone in their year knows the sad truth.

Mary's parents are Squibs.

She duels anyone who dares to mock them. Lily serves as a loyal second. The two of them are fairly lethal with their wands, so usually people refrain from provoking Mary. But Mary still rarely mentions them, maybe because she doesn't want to tempt any mischief-makers, or maybe because, in her heart of hearts, she's ashamed of them. Lily keeps that last thought to herself. She knows Mary loves them and if she does have any more ignoble feelings…well. It's easy to be ashamed of your heritage in their world. Doesn't she feel, herself, that lingering embarrassment when her parents ask, in worshipful tones, how many Sickles made up a Galleon?

'Well, we have to find out some things. How're we going to become Dumbledore's right-hand men if we don't know anything? I mean, I have extensive knowledge of Celestina Warback, but I don't know if that's going to recommend me for the job.'

'Maybe you should talk to James. He might know what Dumbledore's up to. He's got connections – even more than I have.' Mary bends down to examine a loose thread in her shirt.

'Why don't you talk to him? Don't think I'm quite on that level with him yet. Although maybe I should write to him – start off on a good note.' That would be the mature thing to do, right? It would make things easier for her anyway. If they continue as awkwardly with each other as they are now, they'll be the laughing stock of the Prefect meetings.

'What will you say?' Mary asks sensibly.

'I don't know – something. I don't even know if I should.'

'You two can't work together the way you are right now. You barely say two words to each other.' Mary grabs a piece of paper and a pen. 'Here. Write something like _congratulations on making Head Boy. See you soon_.'

Lily scribbles down the message before she can change her mind, leaving out the _see you soon_. She signs it L.E and watches her owl soar into the darkening night sky.

'Hermes won't bring a reply till morning, probably.' Mary is standing next to her at the window, staring at the disappearing silhouette of the bird with avid interest.

Suddenly, an old piece of gossip floats to the front of Lily's mind. Mary had been the first of all the Gryffindor girls to be kissed. The news had been whispered late at night in their dormitory when they were – what? Eleven? Twelve? She had kissed James Potter behind the greenhouses.

But that was all so long ago. Mary has just broken up with Benjy – just a month ago.

Not that Lily minds, really, but she's going to have to spend enough time with James Potter this year without him becoming her best friend's _boyfriend_. But Mary would say something if she did have feelings, so this is all a moot point.

* * *

The letter does come in the morning, as Mary had predicted.

 _I didn't even want the stupid badge, but congrats if you did_. The note is written by quill, of course, in uncharacteristically neat handwriting. It is unsigned.

'What a wanker,' Lily says, tossing it in the bin, and Mary agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

Moony got the bed. He said he deserved it, because he was a werewolf, and his life was difficult enough.

'You can't play that card all the time,' Wormtail had argued. His logic was sound, so he got a fraction of the bed.

Padfoot had said something about batshit crazy parents being enough of a sob story for anybody, but James had pointed out that he was free of them now, and he'd laughed his safe laugh and Summoned a few blankets to camp out on the floor.

James had ended up camping out next to him, because _I own the bed_ was apparently not a valid claim. And also because he likes sleeping next to Sirius. It makes him feel like a kid again – tangled up in blankets, fighting over pillows, listening to Padfoot wheeze softly in his sleep.

Nobody had pointed out the obvious – that Padfoot had his own room _right down the corridor,_ and that the Potters lived in an obnoxiously huge manor and there were plenty of guest rooms for the other two. This was an old tradition, this gathering of the troops before they set off for Hogwarts. In earlier years they had sensibly made use of the rest of the house – 'I'll be closeted up in a room with you wankers soon enough,' someone would say glumly – but this is the last year, and there is now a visible finish line, and they will miss the bloody closet.

James kicks a stray pillow out of his way and pushes open his bedroom window to let a gush of cool air fill his room. He idly scans the sky for an owl. Evans probably isn't going to send a reply. He'd come off as a bit of a wanker in his note. Or so Moony claims, but what does Moony know about anything?

Merlin, it's cold. And the sky is the bluest thing. Perfect flying weather – flying always helps clear his head. But the house elf's already packed his stuff…and a cigarette is easier.

He's got to tell the boys about the Order. He's not sure why he hasn't already. His mother swore him to secrecy – 'not even the boys,' she'd said, but it's not like she expects him to obey that. It was just a sop for her conscience. They shouldn't even have told _him_ , really, they should have just waited for Dumbledore to mention it. The Order is apparently _that_ secretive.

But of course Dumbledore would have mentioned it to the James and the rest of the Marauders anyway. They're the best at magic in their year, and they'll be brave, noble fighters, and if Dumbledore doesn't personally invite them by the end of the year, James is going to march up to him and inform him that they're all signing up, thanks very much.

And if this whole Head Boy thing was some sort of ploy by Dumbleore to make sure James 'mans up' and 'takes responsibility' and all that hogwash? (They'd gone on about it constantly. They'd only shut up about it when the rest of the boys showed up – three days earlier than his parents had expected them. James had owled them with instructions to get their 'sorry arses' to his place as quickly as possible, because his parents were _driving him up the bloody wall_ ).

Well, they were wasting their breath anyway. He's signing up to fight You-Know-Who, and he's going to be great at it, and he's going to do his duty and all that, but he's also going to enjoy this year.

He _deserves_ this last year, they all do. He's got so many fantastic ideas for wreaking some havoc, and a new batch of really high quality Dungbombs.

Did he have to give that all up because he was the _scion of the Potters_? Because his father had used _those exact words_ last night over dinner.

 _You're the only scion of the Potters and we want you to make us proud._

Scion of the Potters? Maybe he'd actually been talking to Polyjuiced versions of his parents yesterday. Maybe they'd actually been Walburga and Orion Black, because _scion_ was not a word in the Potter vernacular. And this whole _making them proud_ thing? Merlin, he'd thought he _already_ made them proud. They'd always seemed so proud of him just for breathing.

How do you go from thinking that your son expels oxygen from his lungs really well to treating him like he's some sort of delinquent?

James lights up. The smoke billows out, staining the blue, blue sky

* * *

They're running late. First his mother had created a scene when she'd realized that they weren't technically packed, and then there were the usual packing-related problems to contend with – Remus couldn't find his Prefect badge, because James had hidden it, and then James couldn't find his Head Boy badge, which Remus swore was not at all his fault. Now there's less than an hour left and they're still milling about in the kitchen, waiting for his parents to come and say their goodbyes.

James would go call them – his mother's probably trying to wrest his father away from his Potions lab. Fleamont forgets he's retired, sometimes – but he has to soothe some ruffled feathers.

'You have a Heads meeting on the _train_?' Peter behaves as if this is a personal affront to him.

'Sorry, mate. You'll have to do without me for – give or take twenty minutes. It'll be hard, I know.'

'He's got to brief the Prefects,' Remus explains, his expression one of profound gravity. 'Give us a little pep talk and the like, you know.'

'Brief you! Shouldn't you lot have figured out your jobs by now?'

'Aah, Pete, I agree, but Hogwarts doesn't seem to have as much faith in the Prefects as we do,' Sirius sighs, shaking his head.

'Well, I mean, maybe that's justified. Moony's a Prefect, isn't he?'

'Oh, you noticed? This one's as sharp as Godric's sword, isn't he, Prongs?'

'He's got a point, though,' James says fairly. 'We all know Moony's the real bad boy of the Marauders, and he's a Prefect, so what does that tell you?'

Sirius considers. 'So nobody should trust the Prefects is what you're saying.'

'Exactly, mate. Now, who do you think they should trust?'

'They should trust the _Head Boy_ ,' Sirius says with great gusto. 'He's a _swanking_ lad, the Head Boy.'

'There was nobody else for the job. His record spoke for _itself_ ,' Moony chimes in.

'The other lad had too many absences. Every full moon, you know, he'd go off star-gazing…' Sirius shakes his head woefully.

'No sense of responsibility,' James concludes, and the boys all collapse with laughter.

'Honestly, though, we have to get a move on,' Peter urges, recovering first. 'We're going to miss the train – '

'And then James won't get a chance to pass on his words of wisdom…'

'Oi,' Sirius mutters, suddenly so close that his breath warms James' ear. 'Moony seems fine.'

'Well, you know, he is a Marauder after all. He probably didn't even want it, not really.'

'He's just got a bloody _complex_ about Dumbledore – about everything, but Dumbledore especially. He probably dreams of Dumbledore marrying him.'

James can't hold it in a second later. What is he waiting for, anyway? He should have told them the moment he found out, but it seemed such a Real and Serious Discussion.

'Mate, I've got to tell you lot something about Dumbledore. Really important stuff.'

'What, have you been holding out on me? And you didn't even tell me why you needed us to get _our sorry arses_ here immediately. I know it's something about your parents –' Sirius looks almost wounded.

'I'll tell you that later,' James says impatiently.

'Some kind of family secret, is it?'

'If it were a _family_ secret, you'd already know about it.'

'What're you two whispering about?' Peter interrupts, disgruntled.

'Care to share it with the class?' Remus suggests.

'I'll tell you all later,' James says, in exasperation.

'That's probably wise, since we're going to miss _the damn train_ if we don't leave right this instant.'

'Well, if it means I can keep my boys a bit longer, I don't mind if you do miss it,' his mother says sentimentally, as she enters the kitchen with his father at her heels. 'I'm missing you all already.'

She pulls Sirius into an enormous hug first. James thinks he hears Sirius whisper 'I'll miss you – Amma' but he could be imagining it. The moment is painfully sweet either way, though, and James pauses to take a mental snapshot of it.

'You all be good,' his father says. 'I expect dozens of loving letters. Fewer from Professor McGonagall, perhaps?'

'Not that those are very loving, probably,' Remus snickers.

'Unfortunately, _not very loving_ is a pretty accurate summation of them.'

James wraps his arms around his mother. She feels so fragile in his arms, he realizes suddenly. When did her hair get so gray? When did she get so short?

'All right, Mum,' he says, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. 'I'll see you at Christmas.'

He claps his father on the back. There's still a frisson of tension between them, but his father grips his wrist and looks directly into his eyes. 'You have fun, my boy,' he says, a peace offering.

'I'll – I'll make sure it's a good one,' James offers, not quite sure what he means but meaning it anyway. 'And – and I'll miss you, Dad.'

Are Fleamont Potter's eyes _glistening_? What on earth for? James isn't going off to war! He casts a quick, alarmed look at Sirius. But when he looks back at his dad, he thinks it could have been a trick of the light, because Fleamont is already pushing James away to grab Sirius in a headlock.

'Don't forget to write, son,' he booms, like he does every year.

Sirius laughs as he struggles to break free, but Fleamont's got a firm grip.

'We really are getting late,' Peter says.

'Right.' James takes charge, because they will honestly miss the damn train if he doesn't, and Evans will skin him alive if he doesn't show up to their first meeting as Heads. 'Off we go, then.'

(Evans. She hadn't been Prefect, either, but she's clever and charming and the kind of person you pay attention to. The only real choice for Head Girl, really. She'd gone to France this summer, or so he'd heard through the grapevine. He wonders how the sun suited her.)

There's no time to fantastize about that, though, because Remus and Peter are hugging his parents and chorusing their thanks, and then they're all pouring out of the house and mentally marking the moment as the official beginning of their seventh year.


	4. Chapter 4

'Blood is stronger than water, dear. She's your sister, and nothing can ever change that – I'm just afraid that you'll look back one day and you will be filled with nothing but regret.'

Lily blew hair out of her face. 'Okay, mum, can I ask you a question? Why am _I_ getting this talk, and not Petunia?'

'I talk to Petunia about this too, Lily, but I feel – '

'Because it all started with _her_ , she's the one who's got an issue with who _I am_ , with what I do – like she's so religious. When was the last time she even went to church?'

'Honey – you know it's been difficult for her. You're so _submerged_ into that whole – that whole _culture_ now that you don't realize how – what's the word? How _surreal_ it is for the rest of us. You're a witch, you know, a proper wand-waving witch – '

'But Petunia doesn't think it's surreal, Mum, she thinks I'm a freak, and it's not very fun to hear somebody say that all the time.'

'Lily – stop. You're a clever girl. You know as well as I do what the real problem is. You know full well that she would rather do – do Charms than physics. If it had been the other way around, if it was Petunia who was a witch – '

'I wouldn't have called her a freak. I wouldn't…' Lily looks steadily into her mother's eyes. 'You know that. I might have been upset, but I would have been better than that – I would never have called her a freak, I'd never have told her she was damned to hell…I would've been better than that.'

Mrs. Evans brushes her fingers lightly across Lily's cheek.

'I know you would have.'

'She betrayed me.'

'It's harder for some people. Sometimes people aren't strong enough…you have to try and forgive them. If you forgave her, if you tried, I know she would meet you halfway. I know my daughter. She's got a good heart. Maybe she did _betray_ you – '

'So what betrayal is too big? What makes somebody a _bad person_? What's the limit, Mum? Because I think, whatever it is, six years crosses it.'

The door opens.

Mary arches an eyebrow at Lily.

Lily nods her head imperceptibly.

'Sorry to interrupt,' Mary says, 'but my aunt should be here any second now and she gets very pissed off about having to wait. Department of Mysteries people, they all think they're a million times more important than anyone else.'

Lily eases past her mother, who just stands there staring directly ahead like they're continuing with the conversation.

'It's going to be okay, Mum. I'm going to be a witch when I get back,' Lily says contritely over her shoulder. 'I'll fix our car. You won't ever need a mechanic again. I'll Transfigure it into a _better_ one. What do you want – Rolls Royce or Mercedes? That'll be fun, right?'

'Yes…'

'Aren't you going to come and say goodbye?' Lily asks softly.

'Of course I am,' Mrs. Evans says, turning to smile at her daughter. They have the same smile, everybody says. 'Your father and I will meet you down there in a second.'

* * *

'Heavy stuff, was it?'

Mary and Lily lean back against the car seats. They feel completely at ease talking as if nobody is in the car with them, because Susannah MacDonald seems to be extremely uninterested in both of them. She's piled the passenger seats with a thousand dusty tomes and occasionally sends wistful glances their way, and she drives at such a breakneck speed, Lily half-suspects her of a death wish.

'She's my favourite aunt,' Mary had warned, 'but she's a bit _spacey_. Doesn't always bother to be mentally present. Fun when she is, though. Ravenclaw, you know.'

'Very heavy stuff. Mum wanted me to reunite with Petunia. Hug it out or something. Make daisy chains with her in the park.'

'One for each year of estrangement, and then you could have a bonfire and symbolically burn them…'

'It's not like I want to fight with her. She's my sister. But she also hates me and I have to take that into consideration. I just don't think daisy chains are in our future any time soon.'

'What about bonfires? Because Benjy and my anniversary is coming up and I'm thinking that you and I should sneak out and have a little bonfire where I can burn everything he gave me…'

Lily laughs. 'What? Okay, first of all, everything? Because if you don't want that necklace he gave you last year, I want it.'

'No, I'm keeping that one. He had good taste, Benjy.'

'Also, I thought you two were friends.'

'Sure, we're _amicable_. We're just as amicable as you and Aaron.'

'Aaron and I broke up ages ago! We actually _are_ amicable. Actually, I think we're friends.'

'Not that long ago. It's basically been less than a year, because you broke up pretty early last year, just before Christmas, I think?'

'Okay, I don't care about the exact break-up date,' Lily says, flushing slightly and looking away. _Just before Christmas_.

It had been just before Christmas. They'd been having problems for a while…just ordinary, adolescent, _teenage_ problems. But she wasn't in love with Aaron, and they had run out of things to say to each other after what was a pretty good run. She liked him, and she would cry when it happened, even though she knew she would initiate it. But it would be wholesome, uncomplicated – or it should have been. It _should_ have been, and then she screwed it up.

'Back to Benjy,' she reminds Mary.

'No, I mean, of course we're amicable. We _are_. But I was so hung up on him for so long…And we never got any closure. I liked him for so long…and then even though I don't like him anymore, it's not like I get butterflies every time I see _him_ , I want to put an official stamp on it. Seal it up.'

'Yeah,' Lily says a bit too loudly. 'The butterfly thing. You like somebody, and even when you don't like them anymore because they're morons, you still need closure.'

'Yeah, and…'

Mary smiles tensely at her.

'I like James. I think I do.'

Lily is prepared for this. She lights up with a smile immediately, nudging Mary in the stomach.

'You little slut. One month after Benjy!' she teases.

'What can I say? A girl's got needs…'

'And Potter's going to meet them for you, eh? No wonder you were so happy about my Head Girl thing. Going to use it to your advantage, aren't you?'

'I know it's a bit _awkward_ ,' Mary says quietly.

'What is?'

'I mean, he had that thing for _you_ in fifth year.'

'That was fifth year, and he was an idiot, and it's not like I said yes. Oh, come on, boarding schools are a bit incestuous by _definition_.'

'So you do think it's a little weird?'

'No, I don't. He asked me out, I said no, it was ages ago. We don't even get _on_.'

'You get on fine,' Mary says. 'I don't know why you keep saying you don't. Remember in sixth year at that party when you two had that huge discussion about some stupid Potion?'

'It was an argument!'

'Okay, it was _hardly_ an argument…you were giggling away and you ditched Aaron to have it with him. Remember?'

'We can talk about things sometimes,' Lily says. 'About important, concrete things. We just can't have a normal, casual conversation, which means this year is going to be hell.'

'Yeah, okay, but why can't you?' Mary says. 'What – is it like sexual tension, or something?'

'No, it's because he's a _toerag_ a lot of the time, Mary. No offence…'

'I'm not offended. I know he's a bit hard to stick, sometimes, they all are. They're _annoying_ as hell, they're just kind of charming at the same time.'

'There's no sexual tension,' Lily says dryly. 'He asked me out once ages ago, while he was being a complete arse. He doesn't even remember it, I bet.'

She turns to look out the window.

'But,' she says, her tone changing. 'If you're really seriously into him, there's one thing I'm going to have to tell you. And please don't get pissed off about it, or think it's a bigger thing than it is…'

'Look at me, Lil…'

'Okay, we snogged once. This one time. At, uh, the party…right before Christmas.'

The car is so quiet, you can hear Susannah breathing.

'Are you serious?' Mary asks flatly. 'Because you were with Aaron then.'

'I _know_ I was, I was going to break it off after Christmas…I thought he might do it before that…we were just going through the motions, which doesn't make any of it excusable…'

'No, it's okay, no,' Mary interrupts. 'You don't need to make excuses about it. I'm your best friend, I'd be on your side if you _murdered_ Aaron.'

'Okay,' Lily says, meeting Mary's eyes at last. 'Uh, thanks. And back at you. But are you going to murder me?'

'Just tell me what happened. Then I'll decide.'

'Nothing. We were drunk. Aaron was off – flirting with some Hufflepuff girl, by the way – and we were arguing about Potions, and I couldn't hear what he was saying, so we went out into the grounds. It was past curfew and nobody was around and we were arguing and also really drunk. So we snogged.'

'Who started it?'

'I don't remember,' Lily lies. (He had. He'd interrupted himself in the middle of a sentence.)

'But why wouldn't you tell me?' Mary says. 'Honestly, I don't even care about the rest of it. You're right, boarding schools are always incestuous, and I believe that you don't like him and it's over…but why wouldn't you tell me?'

'I don't know, you were having your problems with Benjy…'

'Don't use that as an excuse!'

'And I'd rejected him publicly, and he screwed over my ex-best friend a thousand times, and it would've been all this gossip…and I had technically cheated. It just didn't feel like anything to be proud of, and there was no point in talking about it because it was just a drunken thing…he doesn't even remember.'

'He doesn't?'

(He does. Lily is almost sure of it. But she pretends like she doesn't remember, and she thinks he's doing the same.)

'It was just a stupid thing. I told Aaron obviously, and he got really pissed off – which was unfair of him, because I bet he'd have snogged the Hufflepuff girl's face off if he'd had a chance. Anyway, Aaron got pissed off for a week but he got over it and he didn't tell anybody.'

'Okay,' Mary says. 'Wow. I mean – wow. Because you liked him then in fifth year, didn't you? Well, I thought you did.'

'A little, I think. Maybe.'

'Wow.'

'Don't say wow. You're scaring me. Are you mad?'

'No, I just want to make sure I'm not treading on any toes here if I go after him…'

'No, you aren't. Really.'

'Okay.'

'Okay.'

'Thanks for telling me.'

'Uh - anytime?'

Mary laughs. 'Love you, Lil.'

'Sod off, you creep,' Lily returns, just as the car screeches to a halt.


End file.
